At The Top of My Lungs
by Shakespeare-Rut
Summary: I liked dead people. That was certain. I hated going home. That was final. *Molly and Lestrade. It's M because it will get violent. And maybe a little on the "adult" side of things. Please read, review, and enjoy.* This may become a trigger warning to people who have ever been abused sexually, physically, emotionally, and verbally. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

The phone rang.

"Hello? Yes. Space? We've got it. Two bodies? Oh, three and a head. Okay. Yes, of course. Today? Anytime. Examinations? On all of them? Yes sir. Of course sir. You are very welcome. Thank you sir."

The phone clicked.

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and got three stations ready. Also a space for the head. I couldn't forget about the head. The detectives like to bring in the bodies, drop them off with a list of what they need done, and the request of everything being done in a certain amount of time. Three bodies and a head would typically be seven and a half hours, but when the police needed an autopsy and examinations done, it would be no more than four hours. They like things to go fast. Impossibly fast. But I could do it. That's why I joined this career field. I was good at it, fast at it, and I didn't have to worry about co-workers and a million and one people trying to talk to me. It was me and my dead bodies. And I liked that.

I guess I never really thought about joining this field. I just wanted something to keep me in a working position, earning money, and with as little "alive" human contact as possible. I'm okay with people, don't get me wrong, I just like nice alive people. And dead people seemed to be the nicest of all. They didn't judge you, laugh or stare, or do anything bad to you. They were peaceful. Quiet. Nice.

Primary school and secondary school is what drove me to isolation; What drove me to wanting something like this. Growing up I was awkward. My lips were small, my body proportions were off, I was short... I was just awkward. That was just the beginning. Then secondary school started. My lips were still small, I grew a little which made me tall-ish, but I was still awkward. People didn't want to be my friend because I liked weird things. Weird music, I liked to read, I was just different. I wasn't accepted. People would stare, and point, and laugh at me. It didn't help that my family didn't have money. I wore hand-me-downs and we couldn't afford nice things, which also got me laughed at. At a certain point, I just stopped caring. I was in a low spot. But then I found my niche. Dead people.

That's how I ended up here. With dead people.

My name is Molly Hooper, and I love working with dead people.

* * *

The new bodies finally arrived at half past noon like promised. The head would arrive at two.

"Ms. Hooper, I would like this completed on body one. This is on body two. This the third. And this is for the head. Thank you. I'll be back at two with the head and back at five for results." He handed me the papers and walked out. Detective Inspector Lestrade. Good man. Good heart.

And so it began. Exam after exam. Test after test. Then two o'clock rolled around and right on the dot, Lestrade walked in with the head.

"Here you go. A head." He handed it over, almost disgusted with the fact that even began to enjoy this.

"Thank you!" And I set the head on his table.

Before he walked out of the door he turned to me. "Will you be home for dinner tonight?" He asked.

"If I get done with all of this. It seems like I'm a head of schedule." I stopped and laughed. A head. Ha.

"Okay, just don't be too late. Thanks again." He smiled and left.

Home for dinner. I didn't want to go home for dinner. I didn't want to be home for dinner. I really didn't care about dinner, I just didn't want to be home, at all. That's also another thing about this job. Crazy hours sometimes. Sort of. I get to pick my hours. Sort of. I just don't like going home.

And that is final.


	2. Chapter 2

I finished things up at work, washed my hands, and locked the doors. 7:34. Late. I was late. After my three bodies and the head, I received six more bodies. The results of a shooting at a bank. Very tragic and very sad; I almost started to cry. I had to perform a simple process and the routine examinations, but there were still six bodies. And those six bodies made me late. Hopefully Greg was late too. Maybe he got caught up at work in the cross-hairs of the shooting. Hopefully that was his division. Maybe I could sneak in the house. Or maybe I could get hit by a taxi on my way home and end up on my own table. Maybe... What does it matter? I have to go home eventually and the longer I stand here thinking of the "maybes" and the "what-ifs" makes me more and more late. By the time I get home, if all goes right, I should be there by 8:06. No earlier and no later. Especially no later.

So I shouted for a taxi.

Three red lights, eight pedestrians, a car accident and then I finally made it home. 8:30. Late. Very late. Super late. Very super late. Damn. That's not good. That isn't good at all. Usually I'm home by 7:00 if I can help it. I'm an hour and a half late. So late. Oh so very late. I started to panic. I could feel my heart rate increase and I could feel my hands starting to shake. I needed to calm down before I got inside.

I trudged upstairs heavy hearted. I knew what being late was, but I hadn't reached the point of knowing what super late felt like. I opened the door and set my stuff by the coat hanger.

"Greg!" I yelled. "I'm here." Stupid! Why would I bring attention to myself? Didn't I just talk myself out of panicking? I thought I was just going to sneak in? This is just plain ridiculous. Outlandish. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I shook my head and ran my hands through my hair. I heard no answer, so I called again.

"Greg?" Still no answer. I looked in the kitchen because he had mentioned dinner. He wasn't there so I checked the bathroom. Then the living room, the den, everywhere. No answer. So I went and checked the bedroom.

It was dark so I figured no one was home. I decided I would change out of my work clothes and start dinner. I turned the light on and sighed. He wasn't home. He probably was at work. That wasn't a good sign either. Working late on a Friday night for him? That wasn't a good night for either of us. I changed into a t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. I was looking for comfortable now that the day was coming to an end. I would eat then possibly read a book. Or sleep. I would most definitely sleep. I was just so relieved that Greg wasn't home. It gave me peace and quiet. It gave me time. Anything that bought me time was good. Therefore this was good.

I decided to call his office before I made dinner to see how long I would have to make something or I should just order out. Apparently he had already left. I looked at the time and it would make sense. It was a quarter past nine, so he could be home any minute. I ordered out so we would have dinner went he got home instead of trying to wait for me to finish cooking.

The food go here before he did so I waited. And waited. And waited. It was already 10:30 before I started to eat. I put his food in the fridge and left a note saying I was falling asleep in the chair waiting for him, so I went to bed.

And sleep for me was like heaven. A little piece of heaven I didn't get often, so I cherished this. But it was very uneventful. A nightmare of course. I was worried about Greg and when I was worried, it meant I didn't sleep well.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up at a decent time which surprised me. What surprised more was the fact that Greg still wasn't home. Unless he was and I hadn't hear him come inside last night. I ventured into the kitchen and checked the fridge. His food was gone which means he had been home.

I showered and threw some clothes on. I was going to do some cleaning before he got home again. Whatever time that would be.

I was making the bed when I felt a pair of eyes looking at me. It was very unsettling. It felt like I was being judged and like my soul was almost being burned out of me. It made me nervous and I stopped what I was doing.

"What time did you get home last night?" I asked as I turned around. I had barely opened my mouth to ask the question. It was a squeak.

"Late. And what time did you get home?" He crossed his arms as he leaned against the door frame.

"Around eight o'clock." I should have lied and said earlier. He was a detective though, so he would have known if I was lying. He would rather have me tell the truth than lie, which was good.

"I know. I came home, and when you weren't here I went back to work. I said be home for dinner, did I not?" He stepped forward and uncrossed his arms. He tone of voice didn't change, neither did the volume. It was even more unsettling than before. I flinched back anyways.

"I started to worry when you didn't come home. I thought something bad happened." I tried to change the subject a little and make it seem like I was being the caring girlfriend.

He stopped moving. "Are you lying to me?" I could see his fist start to clench.

"No, no. I really was worried. Usually you are home before ten and I had called the office to see-" He cut me off with a slap.

"You did what? You called the office?" He was an inch away from me and his fist was starting to clench again. I could see his jaw start to tense and I couldn't back away any further.

"Yeah, yes, I was, I was worried. I started to panic and I didn't-" Another slap. This one harder than the first. He hit with such force that I was thrown onto the bed.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call work? I gave you rules. I said do not break them. You broke one of them. Do not call work again!" He had finally raised his voice and now he was on top of me, my arms in his fingers. They were gripping me like his life depended on it, and sometimes I worried it did. He started to yell about how I didn't appreciate him and how I never listened to him. Typical. It happened all the time. I knew what was coming because this happened at least once a day.

He pulled my hair and dragged me off the bed. Another slap. Normally I would cry, but that resulted in more hits or something worse. He wasn't always like this I guess. He really was a sweet guy. He really did care. And he really did love me. Maybe not when he was angry, but that was only when I did something wrong. I did something wrong this time. Two things actually, so I deserved this. He was only like this sometimes. I loved him and he loved me. Sometimes he couldn't help it. If he had a long day at work, or if there was anything involving children, he always got upset and a little violent. It wasn't bad. There was this one time though involving a little girl. Her parents were abusive. Okay, the father was but I considered the mother to be abusive too because she didn't step in and she let it happen. He would beat the girl near death sometimes and if the mother wouldn't "put out", he used his own daughter. How sick is that? Normally it wasn't Greg's division, but because the little girl shot her mother on accident, it became his division. During the case, Greg was anxious and sad and angry. He thought it was sick that anyone would do that to someone. Let alone their own daughter. He would come home and cry, even throw up sometimes. Then he would let it out on my. He broke a few ribs that week. And my nose. And my wrist. But that was the worst of it all. He didn't get that violent anymore. Granted he still hit me, but it wasn't bad. Just a few hits here and there. And the yelling. Always the yelling. He always told me how worthless I was and how he didn't know why someone like me would even want to stay on the Earth any longer. He always called me a waste of space. It killed me every time, but he usually apologized when he snapped out of it. I knew he didn't mean it. I know he doesn't mean any of this. I hoped. I always over thought things. Always.

"Are you even paying attention to me?" This time a slap across the face and a punch to the stomach without warning.

"Yes, yes, sorry!" I heaved. I couldn't breath. His blows the the stomach were the worst. I always thought of fighting back, but I had no idea what that would entail, so I usually just took the hits like a man.

"I'm going out. I'll be back later." And with that abrupt notion, he left. I didn't bother to ask where or with who and he didn't bother telling me. He didn't mention what time he would be home either. I just sank to the floor and cried before I noticed the blood trickling out of my nose. I hadn't realized he had hit me there, but I usually just zone out and become numb.

Hopefully he didn't come home tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

I waited for him to come home in a drunk rage. Sometimes when he left, he would come home drunk and it would be just like before except more aggressive. You would figure I would fight back in his state of distress, but that somehow made things worse. Sometimes I thought about running. Not running away, because that is what children did to escape, more like leave and never come back. Maybe move somewhere new. If I left Greg I couldn't stay and work where I did, now could I? Easy access for him. And I couldn't leave Sherlock or John.

One time when Mycroft, the older of the Holmes brother and sometimes I believe the more observant, noticed my faded black and blue eye and all the minuscule bruises and what-not's. They weren't extremely noticeable and I had worn a long sleeve shirt that day, and of course my lab coat. He had waited until Sherlock and John were done with examining the body they needed and he waited for everyone else to exit. I had thought he had left too, for my back was turned and I had heard the door shut behind everyone. I hadn't heard him breathing either. He just stood there, silently and patiently.

"Miss Hooper." He drawled. "May I have a word?"

I slightly jumped and let out a little scream in the process as I whipped around. "Mycroft, I thought you left with everyone else." It was a half statement, half question.

"Naturally I would have Miss Hopper."

I stopped him there. "Please, call me Molly. I assumed we were on those terms already Mr. Holmes." I joked.

"How are things at home?" He asked. He began looking at the body bag which closeted another victim from the cold air and the cruel world.

"At-at-at h-h-home?" I stammered. Why was he asking about home? He didn't need to know about home. What was going on? Had Greg said something? Oh no! I've messed up. I've said something. Greg is going to get s upset with me now. Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!

"You look frightened as if you've just seen a ghost." He chuckled. How humorous, being in the morgue and all.

"No, sorry. Home life is good. Great even. Fantastic you could say. Brilliant. Lovely. Yes, good." I spat the words out, half sick. I made it a little to painfully obvious that I was lying.

"I beg to differ, Molly." He stepped closer. He reached for my arm which was dangling by my side. I flinched back, colliding with the sink.

"Please don't." I squeaked out. If Greg walked in and Mycroft was touching me, he would flip out. Not in front of Mycroft, of course, but when we got home.

"Molly." He whispered. He was so close to me that I could smell the refreshing bergamot contrasted with mint, cedar, and suede. Sophisticated and smart, I thought. He did smell good, but he was still too close for comfort. He grabbed my hand none-the-less, but this time I flinched with pain. He had his fingers on some fresh cuts and bruises.

He then rolled up the sleeve of my coat and my shirt. "As I assumed." His fingers brushed against my skin gently, and I had noticed almost a pain in his eye, like he felt something, maybe regret or sadness or something. But it was an emotion, one a Holmes never shared and one I had never seen on Greg's face.

"I could help you you know." He whispered in my ear. I tear had began to roll down my face when he said that. It was something kind. Something I was sure not used to anymore. "I could get you out of there. I could have him arrested or have you put somewhere safe. Or both." I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. The head of the British Government wanted to save me? A mortician. That's all I was. A mortician who had a crummy childhood. An awkward, hopeless romantic. He wanted to save me?

"No." I side-stepped out of his reach and re-positioned my sleeves. "I can't. Nothing is wrong. I'm okay. Things are okay. He was just drunk. It won't happen again." I tried to distract myself and it was useless lying to a Holmes. I just wanted him to leave. I wanted to leave. I wanted to hide in a hole under a rock and die there.

"This has happened more than once and we both know this will happen again. We are not that oblivious or that ignorant." He straightened back up and walked to the door. "Consider my offer. It will always stand."

And he left.

That day was a day I will never forget. That was a day I had a chance to escape. A chance to be free, start over, have a new life. But I would still be haunted by all of this. And what would happen if I left Greg? He gets arrested? He finds another girl to make into a punching bag? He kills himself? No. I couldn't have that. He was fragile and just as unstable. Just in a different way that me.


	5. Chapter 5

I fell asleep in the armchair as I waited up for him. I looked at my watch and it glowed "7:30". Seeing the sliver of light from outside suggested morning, but I couldn't be sure. I then found myself realizing I was in bed. Odd, for I had been asleep in the chair last I checked. I rolled over, and to my surprise, there laid a peaceful Detective Inspector. I had never seen him more peaceful. More calm. More quiet. More defenseless. I had seen this before. It had been etched on his face when I first moved in. But it changed and I hadn't seen it again. Well, until now.

I quietly got up and made my way to the bathroom. I figured a quick shower before he woke up and maybe I would make him breakfast. Bad idea. I would shower, but wait on breakfast. Who knew what he would want to eat? And I was not about to start my day off bad. Or his for that matter.

I heard a soft knock on the door half-way through my shower.

"May I come in?" I heard him say.

"Sure." I replied. I couldn't tell his current emotional state yet, so I was treading on open, scary waters.

"How are you this morning?" He asked. I heard the water running from the sink and him spit. Brushing his teeth. Good morning then.

"I'm good, and you?" I was still a bit shaky. Brushing his teeth was a good sign, unless he was just brushing the smell of whiskey and women off of him. I wasn't that stupid. I knew when he went out he would sometimes sleep with other women. I hadn't put out for him yet, and I said I wouldn't until we were married. If we got married. I hope we didn't get married.

"I'm fine, thanks. Would you like breakfast here or would you like to go out this morning?" I stopped shampooing my hair and peeked my head out of the shower. I was stunned. We usually never went out. Ever. And I mean ever. We went out once when we had started dating and we had decided to keep out dating a secret and so dates were off-limits.

"As a date?" I questioned, puzzled.

"Yes, as a date." He half smiled. "I want to make up for what happened the other day. I said I would work on it, and that was obviously not working on it. So it is my apology to you. Well half of it. I wanted to actually apologize to you, but I wanted to wait until you were out of the shower. I am sorry. I really am. You know that. I don't mean to hurt you. Sometimes I just see red and I forget what I'm doing and who I'm hurting and what's going on. Can you please forgive me?" Naturally I would have love to say 'no, get the hell out of here you lying, cheating bastard. You think you can apologize again after that?' But of course I couldn't. I loved him.

"I forgive you." I smiled back.

"Good. Hurry out of the shower so we can go on a real date." He left and it had me stunned. Was he turning over a new leaf? Was this just another scheme to get me to do something? What was going on?

And then I thought maybe all was right with the world. Or at least I hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

This is where things start to get more intense. If you can't handle a trigger, I recommend you stop reading now. This is very trigger heavy. So please, you have been advised to leave if you cannot handle certain things. Readers read at your own discretion. You have been advised. I also do not own BBC, the Sherlock cast, or anyone/anything pertaining anyone that.

* * *

Breakfast was good, surprisingly. So was the rest of the day. It was really lovely. We had breakfast, walked around for a while, he bought me flowers, and we just talked. Actually talked, like humans. It was nice to see this side of Greg again. I see this facade around people all the time. When we are out near people, he is like this. The nice, happy, caring "good-guy-Greg", but at home you would never know. Well, except when he was on holiday or I was. Or when an actual holiday rolled around. This was the side of Greg I loved to see, and that's why I love him. That's why I fell in love with him. That's why I won't leave him, because this is still in there, and I'm hopefully prying it out of him.

The day was coming to an end, sort of. It was eight o'clock and the sun was going down but you couldn't tell because it was slightly raining. Typical for England. It seemed to always rain. Not that I have a problem with that, I love rain. I love the smell of it, the feel of it, everything about rain is so beautiful and poetic. It's so relaxing sometimes.

I set my book on the coffee table and got up from my chair. I was exhausted and I most definitely would like some sleep. So I moved myself to the bedroom. I was slipping off my shirt when Greg came in and shut the door. He stood against the door in a relaxed manner.

I didn't turn to him this time since it had been a good day. I was letting my guard down, and it seemed like he was letting his down too. I stepped forward and grabbed my hand. He didn't pull it, yank it, squeeze it. He just held it. Like teenage couples did. The kids in petty relationships than only lasted a couple weeks. He held it and walked up behind me and grabbed my waist, bringing me closer to him.

"I love you Molly Hooper." He breathed into my neck. This was surreal. This hasn't happened before and I seldom heard those words. He was being soft, gentle. It threw me off a little, but I accepted it.

"I love you too, Greg Lestrade." And in that moment I felt calm. A calmness I hadn't felt since before I met Greg. I felt safe. Normal. Love. I felt hope. Compassion. Passion. I felt new things and I didn't want it to change.

He kissed my neck. It was a tender way. He kissed it again and again in the same manner. He kissed down my shoulder and back up my neck again. He then turned me to face him. And this time, a real passionate kiss. One of those breath-taking, feet-lifting, out-of-body experience type of kisses. I felt light headed. This was romantic. This was perfect. This was love.

I started to let his hands roam my body, whilst continuing to kiss me. I could handle fingers ran up and down my exposed spine, giving me shivers. He made circles with his fingers in certain spots on my back, making me tingle with all these new sensations. It was perfect. This was perfect. We were perfect.

He started to try to take off my bra, but I swatted his hands away. He knew that I wasn't going to go any farther than touching non-bikini covering areas. He knew what was off-limits. So we continued to kiss and his hands continued to roam my body freely.

He attempted twice more to get my bra off, but I wouldn't have it. And evidently, he wasn't all for me saying no.

"Molly, please." He begged. "Let me, just once." I carefully removed his hands from my body and stepped back, bumping the dresser with my backside.

"Greg, you know my rules. You have rules and I have rules. And these aren't just rules, these are much more than that, and if you can't respect that, this moment is over." Wrong move. We were playing a game of chess, he was winning. I had lost all my powerful pieces and I had just placed my last, lonely piece in harms way. I could almost hear his blood starting to move quicker, and I could almost feel his muscles tensing and I could almost taste the adrenaline seeping from his body. Check mate. And I wasn't winning.

"Did you just say no?" He didn't move.

"Yes, yes I did. I've put up with your man-handling and I've put up with the yelling and the degrading and all the abuse, but this-" I waved my hands, indicating my half naked body and his sexually driven shell. "This is a no. You know I don't do sex until marriage and you know I don't let you touch me in some places." I felt exposed in so many ways that I bent down to pick up my shirt. Wrong again.

He grabbed all of my hair in one swift movement and brought my eyes up to look into his. "Molly Hooper. I am sick and tired of waiting for you. I have waited and been patient and given you time. But no. No, no, no. Time is up sweet cheeks." He slapped me across the face and shoved me to the bed. I dropped my shirt in the commotion and still felt very exposed. I felt naked and exposed, even though I only had my shirt off. "Enough with the nonsense. I will have you and you will like it."

He pushed me down so I was laying flat on the bed. "You already have your shirt off, so we don't have to worry about that do we?" He snorted. "Pants. Remove your pants." He gestured towards my lower body, expecting me to obey.

"No." I wasn't going to make this more dramatic than it needed to be.

"Excuse me?" He said. He climbed onto the foot of the bed and dragged my body towards his. This time no slap. No hit. Nothing. Or so I thought. "You shouldn't have said no to me." He growled.

He ripped my pants off in one swift motion, and I was left in nothing but my undergarments. He bend over, almost on top of me and went for the drawer. Then he stopped. "No, I lied. You know exactly what is in there and you know that I can you it." He made a gun firing noise and then was on top of me, looking me directly in the eyes. And then he kissed me. It was a hungry kiss. Like he had to kiss me. It was bold and not what I was expecting. I didn't want this, so I attempted to push him off of me, only to have him lock my arms down about my head with his. "Tsk, tsk sweetheart. Daddy doesn't like that."

He then pulled me forward so I was sitting up and removed my bra. A gentle shove and I was on my back again. "See, wasn't so hard after all. And I've always wanted to see your body, so it's okay." And he began to kiss down my body. He still had my hands above my head and my legs were locked under him. I tried to squirm, but it was no use. He was twice, almost three times my size. Taller, heavier, bigger.

"Greg, get off of me. Now." I stated. I pleaded. I begged.

He couldn't hear me though. Between the kissing and everything going on, that was the least of his worries. He then got low. Way low. To a place no one had gone before, and I could almost anticipated what was going to happen. And that's exactly what happened. He took my panties off with one hand and left his hand down there to wander. I made another attempt to get him to stop but it was no use. He was having what he wanted and there was no stopping him. He was kissing and touching and I was uncomfortable and I wanted this to end.

Then the unexpected, in my case, happened. I felt a finger. I felt a finger inside me. I felt it move in and out of me. I felt sick. Then there were two fingers. He was surely enjoying this, but it was painful. Utterly painful. I hadn't noticed I had begun to cry, and neither had he. I was saying 'no' the whole time, but I don't think audible enough to be heard.

I remember him propping himself up and undoing his pants. I remember every thrust and every grunt and groan he made. I remember crying and screaming and telling him to stop, though it was no use. I remember when he was finished, he kissed me and went to shower. He made it seem like we both wanted that. I just laid in the sheets, sobbing uncontrollably and unable to move. When he got out of the shower, he said something and left, but I couldn't hear him. It's not like I wanted to hear that monster anyway. I hoped where ever he was going he was his by a taxi, or struck by lightning, or murdered by an axe-murderer or something. I just hoped he died and never came back.

I didn't move for a while. Hours actually. I didn't move for hours, and when I did I ached. I ached and hurt and cried some more. I didn't know what to do. Do I turn him in? No, he was the police force. Was it his division though? Did I care? No.

I gingerly walked to the shower and turned the water on. Hot. Scorching water. I crawled into the tub and sat there. I sat there and cried. I then laid down and cried. I sat back up and cried. I cried until I ran out of hot water, and then I cried again. I turned the water off and waited until the water reheated and I turned it back in hot again. This time I scrubbed my body raw, form head to toe. I scrubbed until I was numb, more numb than I already was, and then I scrubbed some more. I was in the shower for at least three hours. When I got out, it was three o'clock in the morning.

I didn't want to sleep in my bed, let alone be in my house, so I left. I didn't have a destination, I just left. I don't remember how, but I ended up at Baker Street. 221b Baker Street to be exact. I didn't remember being led upstairs by Mrs. Hudson either. I just remember laying on Sherlock and John's couch, sobbing into John's lap. He didn't bother to ask, and I didn't bother to tell. I hadn't even known if he knew what was going on the whole time between Greg and I, but since I came to his flat in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt, he could see the visible bruises.

It was all a haze, but I could faintly remember falling asleep on John's lap and then half waking up to Sherlock and John whispering about what might have happened. They both knew what happened and I finally caught on that they had known from the beginning what had been going on between Greg and I. They cared, and I hadn't even noticed. There was more whispering and Sherlock even raised his voice a little before being shushed by John.

I fell asleep again, and when I woke up for real this time, I noticed John was no longer under me. I pushed myself upright and looked around the flat. No one insight. I didn't move though. How could I?

I then heard hushed voices from the kitchen.

"How could you let this happen! I said keep an eye out for her. I gave you one job."

"Us? It was your job to watch her too."

"I realize that. We both failed, haven't we? We can only be glad he didn't kill her. I tried to stop it, I tried to step in, but she wouldn't have it."

"Yes, I know. I can't believe he would do such a thing."

"So what are we going to do? Get him arrested? What?"

"Well, seeing as she's washed off all evidence and didn't bring the crime scene with her, we can only assume he has cleaned up the messy stuff and there isn't anything to charge him by."

"So just let him go. Just like that?"

"John, there is nothing I can do except move her and get her safe."

"I will not work with him. His division or not. Find me a new person to work under."

"Sherlock, can you just take a moment out of your life and focus on another human being? She has just been torn into pieces, literally, and might not be able to cope. And you are worried about your job?"

"No, I'm more worried about what I'll do to him if I see him again."

"Oh! Molly! We were just-"

"I know." I said. I wiped a tear from my eye. "I know."

There was a knock on the door downstairs and I jumped and almost screamed. I started to cry harder and I also started to panic.

"Oh my God. What if it's him? He's coming to get me! Don't let him hurt me anymore. Please. I'm begging you. No more." I was shaking and John grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me to Sherlock's room. He stuffed himself and I into the closet and just held me.

"We told Mrs. Hudson not to let anyone in and if someone came, to come get us." He was rubbing my shoulders and consoling me.

I heard a man's voice. "Where is she?" He demanded. Lestrade was here. He had found me and my safe haven. Today was the day I died.

"Where is who?" Mycroft inquired.

"Molly. She left home and I haven't seen her all day. I went to her work and I checked her usual places and she isn't there. Where is she?" He demanded again.

"Sherlock, why don't you go look for her downstairs, she might be with Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft made it obvious in his tone of voice that Sherlock was to leave the room, no exception.

He waited for Sherlock to be downstairs before starting again. "Greg Lestrade. You listen to me. She is gone. Disappeared. She isn't coming back. And after seeing what you did to her, you should be lucky you aren't the next dead body in the morgue. Seeing that all the physical evidence has been erased and, knowing you, the crime scene cleaned up, I cannot charge you with anything. But know this, if you go looking for her, or if you find yourself in another relationship with anyone, I will get you throw in prison. Understood? I, or my men will be watching you from here on out, be aware of that. And that is final. Now you leave Baker Street before I get you arrested for trespassing." Mycroft made it clear he meant business and Lestrade didn't protest, he just up and left in a storm.

"Sherlock, you can come back upstairs now." He yelled. He then walked to the closet and let both John and I out.

Everything started to become a blur, and then everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

I woke up in the bedroom. It was dark outside, so I had no idea what time it was, and I didn't really care enough to want to check. Everything seemed so unreal. It felt like I had just woken up from the worst dream I had ever had in my entire life. I didn't know if I was still dreaming and if what had happened was even real at all. After something like that,myou start to question reality I guess. I heard movement from behind the door and I panicked. It was him. He found me. He was back and he was angry and he was going to kill me. I jumped up from my resting place and slid myself under the bed. I wasn't going to let this happen again. My breathing had started to become heavier and I had started to hyperventilate. I placed my hand over my mouth so he couldn't heard me.

The door opened and I noticed this person had only socks on, like he had been here a while. Had John and Sherlock invited him to stay for tea? This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. I accidentally let out a squeak, but the man hadn't heard it. At least I had hoped he hadn't.

"Who was watching Molly last?" I heard a voice say. It wasn't as gruff as Greg's and it wasn't as deep as his either. "She isn't in here."

There was movement and mover feet appeared. There were now three sets of feet. One socked pair, one barefoot pair, and one pair with shoes on. I didn't know whether to move or not, so I just made myself smaller. I grabbed my knees with my hands and pulled them to my chest. I laid my head on the ground and I just waited.

"She couldn't have gone far. Did we check the bathroom? She didn't leave the through trough the door, that's for sure. We would have noticed. We were right there." The first voice had spoken again. He didn't sound panicked, only worried. They were looking for me. I was pretty sure the voice was John, but I couldn't be to sure of anything anymore. So I just laid there and watched the feet. The pair with shoes left momentarily before returning. No sound was made.

"I'll go check with Mrs. Hudson just in care she did somehow leave the room." The bare feet left. I could hear him walking through the room next door before everything sweet silent again. I couldn't hear anything. No movement, no breathing, nothing. Then a voice.

"Molly?" This was a familiar voice. One I hear in my dreams sometimes. One that promised me the world. The voice that could bring sentries nation to its knees. "Molly?" The voice got softer. This was the voice that I found comfort in when times got hard. This was the voice that made me cry for good reasons. This was the voice I heard that night.

"I'm under here." I sighed. I could finally feel safe again. I slid out from under my hiding place and rested at the foot of the bed. John and Mycroft were standing there with easy expressions on their face.

"Why don't you go tell Sherlock we found her." Mycroft didn't bother to look at John when he said it. And so John left and shut the door behind him.

Mycroft came and sat next to me. He went to place his hand around my shoulder to comfort me, before pausing and giving me the 'Am I allowed to?" look. I nodded, not knowing how physical contact was going to be. he gently placed his arm around me and I jumped, but just slightly. I started to shiver, so he moved closer. I rested my head on his shoulder and I began to silently cry.

There was a knock on the door, but I hadn't noticed. I just saw Mycroft shoo the person with his hand, and they left.

"Why-" I began. But I stopped. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I s couldn't find words and I still hadn't wrapped my mind around what had happened. "Is-" I started again, quieter than before. I just shook my head and laid it back on his shoulder.

He didn't say anything, and we just silently sat there for what felt like hours.

"What happened to me?" I finally mustered up the courage to ask.


	8. Chapter 8

"I love you Molly Hooper. I love you Molly. I love you." I could still hear him whispering in my ear. I could still feel his breath on my neck. I could still feel his kisses and his hands. When my eyes were opened and when they were closed, he was always there. I could feel his touch every time I moved. I couldn't escape it. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and John would be asleep in the chair at the end of the bed like he was watching me to make sure I was safe. One night I even awoke to arms around me. Apparently I was thrashing and screaming and crying and almost hurting myself to the point where someone, I believe Mycroft, had to restrain me.

I hurt. I hurt all over. Inside and out. It had been two weeks since it had happened and I still felt like this. John suggested I start seeing someone, but I couldn't leave. Every time I tried, I cried. I hadn't left Baker Street since all of this had happened. I had been living in John's bedroom. He had said I could stay as long as I needed, but I felt bad for taking over his space. It was his room. His haven away from Sherlock and I had taken it. I had thought of leaving Baker Street, but where would I go? I had no one. These were my people and I felt safe here, for the most part. Greg knew I was here, he wasn't stupid, so someone had to be with me at all times. I hadn't been able to go into work because every time I would go to door of 221b, I would panic. Full on panic attacks. Sometimes I could bring myself back, but the last six were especially hard, so either John or Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson or Mycroft had to bring me back. I wasn't prepared for life outside the door. I didn't know how to go back to my normal life.

I was laying on the bed, the only thing I had been really doing lately, when there was a knock on the door,

"Mat I come in?"

"Sure." And in walked Sherlock. Odd, seeing as he seemed to have been keeping his distance every since I first barged into his flat. Why? Maybe he was afraid to say something wrong. Who knows?

"May I sit down?" He gestured towards the end of the bed. I nodded and sat up, adjusting myself to look humanly presentable.

"Molly." He started. "I want to apologize for what happened to you." He stopped and looked at me. I could see he was trying, really trying to be compassionate and sympathetic, but I knew this was hard on him too. "I just -"

"Sherlock, thank you." I cut him off because I knew how difficult this was for him to try to reach out. He was struggling and it was a nice, heart-warming gesture, but it was almost painful to watch. I smiled.

He stood up, nodded and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned back to me.

"I really am sorry. If you need anything, we're here for you." And he left with the shut of the door.

I decided I would leave the room and go eat. I was starving and couldn't remember the last time I had eaten since this whole fiasco began. I slowly got out of bed and gingerly go in the shower. Because I had up and left, all my stuff was still at Greg's house. I didn't have any clothes to wear, but when I came out of the bathroom, there were clothes neatly piled on the bed with a note. "You might need these. There are more in the left side of the dresser." I smiled. She may not be the housekeeper, but dear Mrs. Hudson sure did look out for all of us.

I walked to the kitchen and John was just turning the page in the paper when he glanced up to see me. On the table was breakfast, something only John ate and if Mycroft was over, he ate too. Mrs. Hudson ate down stairs mostly and Sherlock? Well, he never ate. I sat opposite of John and grabbed a piece of toast. I didn't want to eat to fast and end up throwing it up later. I've been doing enough of that. I then poured myself some tea and ate some eggs. I was starving, but I needed to pace myself. I needed to slow down. I was moving too fast. Not just in eating the food, but coming out of the room. This was too fast. I was doing things too fast. I knew this was a bad idea. I could feel my hands start to shake. Not just my hands, but I was getting restless, like I couldn't control these twitches. I could feel my heart rate increasing. I needed to calm myself down. I was only in the kitchen. Nothing else was happening. By this time though, John had begun to watch me. He knew what was going to happen. It was all to familiar to him. He had gone through this. I started to sweat. It was a cold sweat though. I wasn't hot. I was freezing. I started to hyperventilate but I couldn't breathe at the same time. I got the chills because of my sweating. I swear the room was spinning. I'm going to throw up. This is it. I ate too fast and now I'm going to throw up and choke on my bile. I'm going to die today. Holy Christ. I am going to die. And then my stomach flip-flopped and it felt like a hurricane was happening inside me. My head was pounding, my chest hurt like someone had just stepped on me and broken every rib. I needed to take a drink. I picked up my tea, trying not to spill it and I took a drink. Or at least tried to. I couldn't swallow. My throat was tight and it felt like I couldn't swallow. I finally choked it down, but by this time, I was a mess. I was just shaking and silent crying and I could see John was trying to talk me out of it, but I couldn't hear him. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears. A ringing and a voice. I tried to stand, but John was already up and pushing me back down. The next thing surprised me. I felt not just one, but two pairs of arms around me. I immediately felt calm. Almost immediately. Like the world had just been lifted off my shoulders and I could feel safe and relax.

"Can you hear me? Are you okay now?" John kept repeating. He had his hands in front of my face, and holding up two, then three fingers. I felt hands still on my shoulders and I looked up. Sherlock hands. He looked down, nodded and kept them there. "Molly? Can you hear me?" John said again.

"Yes. Yes I can. I can. I'm sorry." I started apologizing. I couldn't control this, but I felt I needed to apologize. I just wanted to go back to the bedroom and hide between the sheets. I wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out. I wanted to get his by a cab or a bus. I wanted to disappear.

"It's fine. It used to happen to me all the time. It's okay. We'll work through this, okay? I promise you that. I haven't had a panic attack in a few months."

"Seven months, three days, and five hours to be exact." I looked back up at Sherlock. His hands hadn't moved but he was looking at John now.

"Yes, it's been that long since I've had one so we can work through this. Only if you are willing to work with us. This is what? Your-"

"Since I got here? Twelfth." Yes. Twelve panic attacks. I felt small and weak.

"Okay, we can work with that. But for now, Sherlock and I have a case. Mrs. Hudson is downstairs if you need her. Are you going to be okay if we go out?" I nodded not wanting to keep them from their job. John left the room and Sherlock stepped in front of me.

"John used to do that all the time. I knew you were having a panic attack because John used to. That's what I would have to do. I would have to hug him until he calmed down. It's been sometime since I've had to do that. I want to know if you are okay." It wasn't really a question, more like he was trying to care again. He was trying his hardest and it made me warm inside knowing he might have a heart in there somewhere.

"I'm fine, thank you." He stood up. Straightened his jacket and threw his scarf on. John was back at the frame again. "Ready?" Sherlock looked over at John.

"When you are." And John left down the stairs.

"We're a phone call away." And Sherlock waltzed after John.


	9. Chapter 9

I didn't end up calling John, or Sherlock for that matter. Things were peaceful and that's what I needed. A little peace and quiet after the episode I had in the morning. I ended up just reading a book until they got home, "Pride and Prejudice" to be exact, and it was enjoyable. I didn't have to worry about anything or anyone. I could just read and not be disturbed. Well, besides Mrs. Hudson, but that didn't bother me. She was just checking up on me every once in a while and making sure I didn't need anything and if I did, she made it very clear, that she would get it for me. I always protested, though. She had already done so much and I felt like I was bothering her. And I didn't particularly need anything.

She did need to go out though. She kept going on about how "the boys never had food in the house" and how "they never eat". Which is mostly true. Sherlock didn't eat and there was no food in the house, hardly ever I'd picked up on. It always humored me to hear that. John ate, so what did he eat if they had no food? I guess they ordered take-out a lot or at out too. But it just amazed me how a human just couldn't eat. I like to eat, a lot actually, so how in the world did Sherlock not eat? He could go for days not eating, but John being who he was always tried to sneak some food in front of Sherlock or somehow shove it down his throat. Good 'ole John. Looking out for everybody. And he did. He looked out and cared for everybody. He was like a brother to me. A brother with a weird best friend and a slightly disturbing hobby, but who was I to talk? I work with dead bodies. Or I used to. That thought always saddened me. I used to work with dead bodies. I used to be in love. I used to have a life. I used to have my own bed. I used to have my own clothes. I used to be someone I'm not. Well, I haven't changed necessarily, but I have. I just felt different. I was still me, I was just somewhere new with new things. And change was good, it was just hard getting used to it all. Time, I knew it would take time. But how long before I started feeling okay again? How long did I have to wait before I could start feeling like myself again? Hopefully not too long. I'm not impatient, I just hate feeling this way.

Anyways, Mrs. Hudson left. She felt bad for leaving me home in an empty flat all by myself, but I insisted that she leave. She also insisted that I go with her, but I just couldn't leave the flat yet. It was still too soon. But that was okay. I didn't want to rush myself. So I read my book, I took a nap, I organized a few things. I did the laundry. And then I began thinking. I'm sleeping in John's bedroom, which puts him on the couch. I also noticed that from the pillow and blanket shoved behind it. So I was taking over his space. He needed his space back. And I kind of wanted my own space. My own room, not someone else's. I love John, yes. He's seriously like my older brother, but I couldn't intrude on them any longer. So I made a decision. I wouldn't intrude on them any longer. They both needed their home back. But where would I go? What would I do? I literally had no money to my name anymore, and these people were the only people I had.

That's when I remembered. I remember him whispering in my ear. "I could help you you know." He said. "I could get you out of there." He said he could put me somewhere safe. He was willing to be there for me. So that was my decision. I was going to leave 221b and hopefully have somewhere to live if he would still help me. I was going to give someone else there life back while still trying to figure out my own. I wasn't going to just leave though. I should talk this over with John first. Or should I just give Mycroft a call? I would call Mycroft and then talk to John about it. I needed to make sure Mycroft could, well would, still help me.

So I grabbed the phone. And it rang. And rang. And rang. And at the end of the third ring, I finally heard his voice.

"Hello?" He asked. And I was ready to hang up. What was I doing? I couldn't ask him for something this big. I should just hang up now. He doesn't know who it is yet. Or he could. He is the British Government. But no. There was a certain calmness in his voice. There was something so inviting about him that I just couldn't hang up.

"Hello?" He asked again. I could hear him put his hand over the phone and him say something to someone obviously in the room.

"Hi." I manage to say. I thought it was to quiet for him to hear and I was going to say it again when he started to speak.

"Hello, and may I ask who this is?" He knew it was me. He knew the number was from Baker Street and he knew John and Sherlock were out, but still he asked.

"Molly. Molly Hooper." I gained a little more confidence.

"Ms. Hopper, how nice of you to call. Is everything alright? Is something the matter?" He was holding back panic. After everything that had happened, I'm wasn't surprised that his first instinct was to panic when I was on the other line.

"No, well I mean yes. Everything is alright. But I needed to ask you a favor."

"Yes, of course. Ask away."

"You said you could help me."

"Yes, I remember." He inhaled, almost expecting the worse I could imagine.

"So, I was wondering-" And we formulated a plan.


	10. Chapter 10

After we had discussed what was going to happen, we talked to John. John thought it was a good idea that I have a place to myself, or at least my own room for that matter. He also wanted his own room back. He didn't say it out loud, definitely subtext, but I understood completely. So I gathered the clothes from the dresser and moved out of 221b and into a new place. The Holmes residence. The same Holmes residence that Mycroft inherited when his parents died. The house was rather large for just one person everyone had said, so Mycroft insisted on me moving in with him. I had my own room and my own bathroom. I also had my own bed. I enjoyed it. I had a place to call my own, for the most part. I was living under Mycroft's roof, but I had my own space. That was two weeks ago.

I had been here for two weeks. And I still found everything rather new, almost exciting. Mycroft had shown me everything in the house from the library to the den, from the kitchen to sitting area, and everything in-between. He said if I needed anything to ask. Anything to make my stay more comfortable, but they he apologized because I wasn't just staying, I was going to be permanently living there. But nonetheless, he still said if I needed anything, to just ask.

I assumed he would stop watching me life a hawk after a day or two, and he did. But he still watched me. Not in a creepy way, just a "I'm making sure you're alright" kind of way. Which was reassuring and comforting. I had someone caring for me. But I didn't know if I could trust him. The same thing happened between Greg and I. I moved in, then again we were in love, but I moved in and he would watch me and pretend to care and then all the bad things happened. I knew I could trust Mycroft, but I wasn't going to trust that easily again.

I did take John's advice though. He had told me to see someone to talk about what had happened. And I did find someone, but I ended up not liking her, so I stopped going to see her. And I looked for someone else, but counselor's and psychiatrists just weren't my thing. I didn't like talking to people I didn't know. I felt like I was burdening them with my problems and I didn't want them to tel me I was crazy or anything. That's also part of the reason why I left my first counselor. She suggested I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said that it fit, but I didn't want to hear it. It made sense though. She said I had all the signs and symptoms, but I still didn't want to believe it. She was right though. I was having flashbacks of what had happened. When I slept I had dreams about it. When I took a shower I could remember it. I was reliving it. Sometimes it would last only minutes. Other times it would last days at a time. I also didn't want to talk about what had happened. Ever. That's what I hated about seeing someone. They wanted you to talk about it. It was kind of the point of going, but I had no intention on saying anything about it. I felt gross thinking about it, so I tried so hard not to, but I always did. It was inevitable. She had mentioned the other signs and symptoms. And they were, almost, all true.

"I believe you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Ms. Hooper. You show almost all the signs and symptoms. And before you stop listening and start blocking me out, just listen for two more minutes. Feeling emotionally numb? Avoiding activities you once enjoyed? Hopelessness about the future? Memory problems? Trouble concentrating? Difficulty maintaining close relationships? Sound familiar?" And I started to shake my head, but she kept going. "How about being irritable or angry? Do you feel overwhelmed with guilt or shame? And self-destructive behavior? Don't lie to me about that. I can see the cuts on your wrist. Are you having trouble sleeping? Are you easily startled or frightened? What about hearing or seeing things that aren't there? They are all true and I can see it in your eyes." By that time I had started to cry. "I can help you, you know. It's my job to help you. I want to help you. You just need to let me."

I stood up. "No thank you." And I walked out. Too bad she was right though. For the most part. I wasn't feeling emotionally numb, please. I was crying sometimes, I was happy at times, I was still emotionally intact, for now. I was, unfortunately avoiding the things I used to like, like cooking and being in the morgue. I didn't necessarily feel hopeless about the future, I just didn't know where it was going and if I would be alive in the future. And I didn't have memory problems, though I wish I did. I remembered almost everything perfectly, like Sherlock did, which made things a living hell sometimes. Concentrating was a huge problem though. I couldn't stay doing one thing from more than a half hour, which is a really short period of time for me. I used to be able to doing things for hours on end, and now my mind was racing too much for me to think straight. I wasn't having problems with close relationships, mostly because I could trust John and Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson, and I guess I could trust Sherlock too, but we didn't really talk, so it's not like I had to trust him with a lot of things. I was irritable and angry, just not all of the time. I mean, who wouldn't be angry after all that happened to them? I wasn't physically angry so I never got violent, I was just really angry sometimes. I did feel guilty and ashamed though. I felt like all of it was my fault, like I could have prevented it. Mycroft was really good about calming me down when I go worked up about that. I wasn't self-destructive either like she said I was. Yes, I had cuts on my wrist, but I had them all over my body. They were from Greg and they were healing. Yes, I did cut myself a few times, but it did nothing for me. It didn't make me feel any better, so I stopped. And I was obviously having a hard time sleeping. It was getting better though. I think. And being easily startled or frightened is an understatement. Every time the phone rang or the clock chimed or a door shut I jumped and panicked a little. I wasn't hallucinating though, for the most part. Sometimes when I walked past mirrors, I swore I could see Greg standing behind me with the same look he had on his face the night it happened. And sometimes, I thought I could hear him whispering to me. But it wasn't real. No, it wasn't.

Other than that, I was fine. I was settling in, and things were good. I was able to get up and move around the house without having a full on panic attack, which was good. I hadn't had on since I had moved to the Holmes estate. I was just living which was good. John also came to visit sometimes. It was nice seeing him. It was nice having some friends. Big Brother John. I was funny to think about. But he felt like a big brother. I loved these people. These were my people. And they were alive.

I had nice, alive people.

And I was fine with that.


	11. Chapter 11

It have now been in the Holmes estate for a month now. And it has been a month and half since I was raped by my then boyfriend Greg Lestrade. And I am starting to cope. I'm also starting to fall in love I think. Which is really bad. I don't trust easily, but I do trust some people. But I've always had a slight crush on him. And when he showed compassion and that he cared, I started to fall in love with him. But that's the same thing that happened with Greg. So I wasn't going to pursue that, at least not yet. Mycroft was genuine though, which made it rather hard for me to not fall in love. But no, not yet. I wasn't going to let this be so easy like before, but I was a hopeless romantic and this sort of thing made me all sappy inside. The "man who saves the day gets the girl" sort of deal. The thing you see in all those romantic movies or read in all those romantic novels. But not this time. Not yet. I was not dropping my guard this soon. I still wasn't fully myself yet, so I wasn't going to listen to myself until I was okay.

But other than that I was good. No panic attacks, no surprise visitors, nothing out of the ordinary. I was in a good, safe place. What did bother me was something super personal. And I wasn't going to talk to anyone about it, or so I thought. I was late, which essentially wasn't a problem because it used to happen to me when I was a teenager. I was irregular as teenager, but it had become more stable and joined a pattern when I got older. And now I was late. And I wasn't freaking out, because it was only a month. And I was only a few weeks late. I was keeping track on my calender. I wasn't going to worry about it until later. I didn't need to, right? Yes, of course. It totally okay.

* * *

Today Mycroft and I were going to try something. I needed to get outside. Being cooped up in a house for a month and a half just wasn't healthy for me. My sink was looking a sick, pale color and I needed people. I needed to see people even if I didn't know them. I just needed people contact. So that was our goal for today. Our goal was to get me out of the house. And we did just that.

I had woke up that morning and showered. We then proceeded to eat breakfast and then we left. We went to the park to start the say off. He said he sometimes came to this park to clear his mind. And that's what we were doing. We were clearing our minds and getting some fresh air. After the park, we just strolled around London. The London I knew. The London I missed. We had turned a corner when I stopped. Across the street was my work. My original safe place. I could feel myself start to tense up like I was going to have a panic attack, but instead I let silent tears stream down my face.

"What's wrong?" Mycroft looked around, like he was searching for a murderer or a ghost or maybe even Greg. He then looked over in the direction I was faced.

"My job." I managed to squeeze out. "Can we-" I started. Was I ready to go back? Someone had been covering my shifts while I was away. Most of the situation had been explained to them, sort of. They were told it was a family emergency, so they quickly covered my shifts. I felt almost bad that they had to take over my job for me and I also felt bad for abandoning my dead bodies. I hadn't even thought about leaving my dead bodies when I ran. But how could I go back? What about all the police that came in with dead bodies? I couldn't do it, but I needed to.

Before either of us could say anything, I felt my feet move towards my old work place. Before I knew it, both Mycroft and I were in the room I used to work in. One of the other girls, actually the girl who had taken all my shifts were down there. She was a bit started when I just walked in.

"Oh! I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting people." She exclaimed.

"No, it's okay. I wasn't expecting to come back here today." That's when she realized it was me.

"Molly! I missed you so much! This job just hasn't been the same without you. It really hasn't. Are you coming back?" She looked excited to have me back. She had been my intern and she had been the brightest and smartest. Just like me. That's why I liked her.

Before I could think about whether or not it would be a good idea to come back, I said yes. I wanted my job back. I wanted part of my life back. But I told her I had one rule/condition. I wasn't to be alone, she or someone always had to be with me while I worked. And that was that. I had my job back. I had my life back. I was almost me again. And I was okay with that.

* * *

Mycroft and I left in silence and we didn't talk until we go home. I was ecstatic. I had my job back! I couldn't believe it. I didn't not have my job, I just wasn't working. I was expecting to have a panic attack because I was moving too fast again, but instead I felt normal. I felt fine. I felt okay. But that was easily interrupted.

"What are you thinking?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" I was confused.

"Your job? Are you serious? Are you even ready for that to happen?"

"I need something to occupy my time. Just sitting here at home isn't what I need. I need something to do. I've cleaned the house a million times. I've read almost every book in the history of books, but I need more. I need my dead bodies." I was starting to get a little loud and a little defensive. I finally had something good and solid in my life. I finally had him, this house, and now my job.

"But I'm worried about you. What happens if Greg shows up? Or you have a panic attack and I'm not there? What then? I'm worried about you." His voice was starting to raise. It was happening again. He is just like Greg. He's starting to control my life. He didn't want me to leave. It was his plan all along. He wanted to get me alone to himself so he could so the same thing Greg did or worse. He was the British Government, who knew what he would do. He could do more damage than anyone else ever could.

"I know you are worried. And thank you. But I need to be myself again. I need a little space. I can't be locked up here all my life." I had changed my tone of voice like I had when Greg got angry. I quieted down and I shifted my weight to show I wasn't here to fight.

"Fine, go to your job then. But I will have someone watching you. You won't know who it is. No one will and I'll make sure Greg doesn't come near you. Ever. I want to keep you safe. I love you and I don't want you to get hurt." He was now the most vulnerable he had ever been in his entire life. He had messed up. Slipped up. He had revealed something I had hoped never would have happened. Before we could talk about what he had just said, he stiffened and moved towards the door.

"I need to make a few phone calls. I should inform John of your plans and I need to find someone to keep an eye on you." And he left the room. I was stunned. That had just happened. And now things were moving too fast. I wasn't going to share my feelings for at least another month or so, but he had slipped up and now it was on the table. It was out in the open. It was exposed and we couldn't cover that up anymore.

And I was okay with that.


	12. Chapter 12

I had been at work for a month now. I was getting a regular amount of dead bodies, which I obviously enjoyed. I loved my dead people. My co-worker Temperance, the one who had been covering my shifts, and I were becoming really good friends. And good thing too, seeing as I always have to have her with me when I'm working. Not because I can't do my job, it's just to keep me safe. And I guess her safe too for that matter. We have to have a male on grounds at all times too, Mycroft's idea. That way, if Greg does show up, I'm not there and neither is Temperance. I don't want her getting hurt or dragged into anything either. We became almost sister over this past month. The sister I never had. I didn't fully trust her though, and I felt really bad because she trusted me with everything. I just didn't want to trust someone so fast.

It had been two and a half months since everything had happened, but now things were returning to normal. I had made a friend, my life at home was good, I was able to go outside and not panic in the process, and I visited 221b more often. But I wasn't living there this time. Mrs. Hudson always invited me in with a warm smile and lead me upstairs. I always offered to help with groceries or the trash or something if I caught her at an inconvenient time. She was like a mother, or aunt really. Someone who looked after me, even when I wasn't under their roof.

Yes, the roof. Living under the Holmes roof was actually not what I had expected. Outside of the house, he was the British Government. He was posh, sometimes frightening, and meant business. Inside the house was a different story. He would walk around with no shoes, he would sometimes sing really loud, and he cooked. We would cook together sometimes, and obviously make a mess. But it's not like we tried to make a mess. We would just sometimes get carried away and end up flicking flour at each other, them throwing who knows what next. We had fun, and that's what shocked me the most about him. He could have fun. He was enjoyable to be around. And I was finally letting my guard down. I was finally letting another man into my life. I knew it was going to happen too. The moment I first walked through his front door I knew things between us were going to change. But I was okay with that, and he seemed to be okay with it too. He was the perfect man, which sounded cliched, but I didn't care. He really was my "Prince Charming". He really was my "Knight in Shining Armor". He really was mine.

I had talked to John about it. A week after Mycroft had said he loved me I finally talked to John about it. John looked rather shocked himself. I remember the conversation almost exactly.

"John, there was a reason I can over today, actually." We were washing dishes when I finally brought it up. Sherlock was out, with Mycroft coincidentally, so I knew I could finally talk about it.

John dried his hands on a towel and moved us to the living room. "What's going on? Everything okay at your new house?" He asked.

"Fine, actually. Thanks for asking. Well, actually, things are better than fine." I paused. How was I going to say this? Should I even be saying this? Too late now. "John, Mycroft said something to me about a week ago."

John didn't have any expression in his face, but I could see his jaw tense and his teeth clench. "And what was that?" I could almost see John's thoughts in front of me. He was thinking that Mycroft had upset me by saying something insensitive or something inappropriate, he was Holmes after all.

"He told me, he said, but he didn't mean to. But he let slip that, he kind of said he loved me. But I don't know how to take it. Like," I paused again waiting for an expression, but nothing came. I could see it in his eyes, but he didn't move or speak or do anything really. "I mean, does that mean he loves me like he would a family member or does he love me like a lover would love me? It happened all so fast and I didn't know what to do."

And once I had said that, a look of shock and relief came over his face. "I thought he hurt you or said something to upset you. Is a Holmes brother even capable of loving? I've always wondered, and now I know my answer." He scratched his nose. "I don't think he means love you like a relative to tell you the truth. The Holmes are very unique when it comes to emotions and expressing their feelings. Look at Sherlock for example. He don't know how to convey them properly sometimes and when he wants to say how he feels, which is seldom, he is usually very awkward about it. Mycroft on the other hand, is capable of showing emotions and expressing them in a different way. If he says it, he means it. He once told me I was like a younger brother to him. The younger brother who kept his two other brothers in line. He meant it. He said he cared about me because that's what family does. He told you he loves. He probably meant it. It may have been an inappropriate moment to say it or it might have been inopportune, but he said it nonetheless and he definitely meant it."

So Mycroft had feelings for me and I for him. I finally felt wanted again, but I was still afraid to do anything about it.

Seeing that it had been two and a half months since things happened, I had started to wonder about Greg. Not much, just enough to the point where I wanted to know if he was okay or not. That's when I remembered something else. It had been two and a half months and I still hadn't had a period. I was starting to get nervous. It wasn't possible, right? I just had to check, just to make sure. It has happened before, where I miss months and stuff due to high stress, but I just needed to be sure.

So I asked Temperance to run to the store an get a few pregnancy tests for me. I wasn't just going to pee on one, because sometimes they are false positive or false negative. So she came back with six. I would use three today and three tomorrow. Over the course of a couple hours, just to be sure of course. So I made sure to drink a lot of fluids. And that's when I decided I was going to pee on the first stick. In the bathroom of the morgue. How classy.

I had to wait apparently for the thing to calculate or read my pee and what not. I waited and waited, and finally the results came in.

Negative.

Oh thank the Lord! I was sobbing. It was negative. That was fantastic! It was the first one thought. It could always be a false negative. So we would wait a few more hours to be sure.

* * *

A few hours had past and Temperance and I were growing impatient, so I did it again. And again. This time, both positive. Oh dear. But it wasn't or sure, so we would have to wait until tomorrow. And tomorrow was no different. All positive, no negative. Oh dear was an understatement. I was going to need to go see a real doctor about this, not just depend on a stick I have to pee on.

Because of what time the appointment was, Temperance wasn't able to drive me, so I had to ask John. I just said I need to go to the doctors and I didn't want to go alone. He accepted that answer and drove me.

We sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours when my name was finally called. John asked if I needed him back there and I said not yet, I wanted the privacy first. And he was okay with that. When the doctor and I got in the room, she asked her routine questions and all the normal stuff when she asked me why I was really there. I wasn't going to say I had been raped and I think I'm pregnant, because I had never discussed taking to a doctor about the rape or anything with Mycroft. So I left that part out. I just told her I thought I was pregnant, so she said she wanted to run some quick tests to see. She said she wanted to take some blood and measure hormone levels, it's called the "HGC test", which measure hormone glucose. She said since I had peed on the stick, it was the same thing she was going to have me do because it measured my HGC or whatever, she just wanted to make sure. Or she said since I had already peed on the stick she was going to do something else to measure those levels, I can't remember. She said she would get all that done and she would call when results were in. So we left and that was that.

* * *

At the end of the week I had received a phone call. Actually John did because I didn't want the doctor calling our house and Mycroft picking up. So we drove back and I went into the room alone. The doctor asked if I wanted my boyfriend in the room with us when she told me the news, but I laughed and said he was more like a brother, and that we weren't dating. She apologized and handed me the paper work. I can hear her saying it, even now. She wanted to wait for the boyfriend, fiance, or the husband but I said there wasn't either so she could go ahead and tell me. And tell me she did.

"Molly Hooper, congratulations. You're pregnant."

I thanked her and I plastered a fake smile on my face. I left and John and I got in the car when he asked if I was okay and what was in my hands. I was holding a copy of the test results and I looked sick. I felt sick. Pregnant. She said pregnant.

"John, I'm pregnant." And then I stepped out of the car and threw up in the nearest garbage bin I could find.


	13. Chapter 13

Trigger alert. Ye' have been warned. Also contains swear words.

* * *

"I'm honestly not shocked, no offense. I just figured it would happen. You told me of his lack of protection, and you were ovulating, so I'm really not surprised. It's okay though. I always knew you would make a great mother. You'll be a wonderful mother. You can do this. And of course I'm here to help when you need it. I mean, its too soon for really anything, but I'm still here. And Mycroft. He's-"

"Oh dear Lord! Mycroft! What am I going to tell him? I can't. I have to. I didn't even think of that. What's he going to say? What if he kicks me out? I can't have that. No, I can't. But thank you. I appreciate it, really. More than you know. You've helped e so much over the past couple months and I can't thank you enough. And now you said you'll help me with," I gestured towards my stomach, "this. John, you mean the world to me. Thank you so, so much. I really don't know how to say thank you." John and I both smiled. We were back in Baker Street. Sweet 'ole 221b. Sherlock was experimenting in the kitchen, so we were in John's bedroom talking. Sherlock didn't really care to know of what we were taking about so he didn't bother us. We had our privacy to discuss this matter, and Sherlock didn't really care that he wasn't in on the talk. He was busy.

"Mycroft won't kick you out. And if he does, you have us. But it's highly unlikely that he'll kick you out. He told you he loved you. He won't leave you. I may not know him as well as I know Sherlock, but I know he won't leave you." He patted my hand when there was a knock on the door.

In walked Sherlock. Shoulders back and looking very stiff, very tense. "I hate to intrude, but John, there has been a murder." He nodded and left.

"You know what that means." John rose from the edge of the bed and swung his coat on. "I don't know how long I'll be, but I think we need to talk about a few more things. So if you want to leave, we can pick this conversation up tomorrow or you could stay and wait. It's up to you. I don't think we'll be gone too late, especially with the 'brain' working." He walked to the door.

"I think I'll stay, maybe even make dinner." We both laughed.

"With what food?" He asked. And we laughed again. "Okay, I'll call when we're headed home."

As he left the room, you could hear an impatient Sherlock yelling "Murder, John! A murder!" as if he hadn't heard him the first time.

And then the house was empty again. Mrs. Hudson was out visiting her sister, Claudetta Hudson, in Northern Ireland. Her sister was just getting over a rough divorce, so of course Mrs. Hudson would be there for her. And now John and Sherlock were gone.

I stood up from where I was sitting, smoothed my clothes and walked to the kitchen. Hopefully John was just kidding about not having any food. Fortunately, he was. Mrs. Hudson had gone shopping before she left because she didn't want "her boys to starve" while she was away. Lovely lady she was. Very wonderful.

I heard a noise from downstairs, but it was probably nothing. This house always made odd sounds. From Mrs. Hudson's flat, to Sherlock's bathroom, to John's room upstairs. The house had it's ticks and that was probably one of them. So I just shrugged it off. I continued to search through the kitchen, trying not to mess with any of Sherlock's many experiments. He had several going on at the moment. Thumbs in one place, pinky toes in another. He loved his experiments.

There was another noise, like a creak of the stairs this time. I was trying not to think anything of it. I didn't want to freak myself out and have to call John or Mycroft to come to my rescue. It was just the house making sounds. That's all it was. No need to panic. I was over thinking things. Everything was okay.

I stopped rummaging through the cupboards and walked into the living room. I was going to clean up some of this mess that Sherlock let happen. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen. There, standing in the middle of the floor was Lestrade. He had a finger over his mouth and a gun pointed directly at me. Not only was it pointed at me, but his finger was on the trigger.

"You are going to listen very carefully to me, understand?" He whispered.

I nodded.

"Outside, Mycroft has his 'boys' lurking around, watching me. Looking for me. Ever since you ran to this place, he's had people watching me. You've gone and messed things up. We were happy. We could still be happy. I loved you. I still do. But you went and left and moved in here. You left me, and I'm not to happy about that." He stepped forward and placed his hand on my cheek. No hits, no slaps, no pain. Just a gentle hand. It would almost be sentimental and meaningful if he didn't have a gun pointed at me or he hadn't done the things he had done.

"I've sent Sherlock and John on a mock murder. I followed you home. I saw you leave the doctors. So? What's the news?" He stepped back, his eyes not leaving mine, nor dropping his aim.

"I think you know the answer to that." I said. My voice was shaking and it felt like I couldn't breath. The air in my lungs was compressing and the room seemed to keep darkening, but I couldn't let go now. Who knew what this beast would do to me.

"I want to hear you say it."

"Pregnant. Yours. Happy?" Those three words. Those three words that shouldn't be taken lightly, yet here I was throwing them at a man armed and dangerous.

"Are you keeping the baby?"

"Haven't decided that." And in one swift movement, I ran for the door. Greg had sensed it though. He was on top of me in the same instant. And now here we lay, face down on the floor. His weight on top of mine. Gun against my temple. Hands squished behind my back between Greg and I. I don't think I was breathing. He had become furious.

"Why do you always run? It isn't as fun. I didn't come here to hurt you, but now, you've upset me." He took his free hand and propped himself above me. He was hovering, but not just hovering. He was undoing his pants with his free hand. His other hand still held the gun. "I really didn't plan on this, but I enjoyed you the first time, I think I'll enjoy you again. Because you know what happens when daddy gets angry, don't you?" He started to growl in my ear. A soft, almost inaudible growl. He lifted my skirt. Damn. Why did I wear a skirt today? It was easy access for him, and it was my fault. I pissed him off and I wore a skirt.

"You're useless. You know that? Pathetic and worthless. All you're good for is sex and cleaning. You drain the oxygen out of the room with your poor, pathetic lungs. Why do you even exist?" He breathed into my ear. He was positioning himself for entrance. I knew it was coming. I thought it would only happen to me once, and even then I didn't think it would happen. But here was round two. Here we were again. Different place, same situation. And then it happened.

He slid himself into me. I felt every inch. I felt all the pain. Every thrust. He was sliding in and out. Over and over. Repeating what had happened a few months ago. He was telling me how pathetic and how ineffective, hopeless, of no use, a waste of time, futile, ineffectual, inadequate, worthless, incompetent, and ineffectual I was. Ever groan he made was my name. He was now up on his knees, kneeling behind me. I was on all fours, thus him being able to use his free hand, and with it he pulled my hair back. He pulled my hair until my face was next to his. That's when I felt something not human entering me. I glanced over to see the gun was no longer pointed at me. It was inside of me.

"You're just a worthless bitch, you know that?" He spit on the ground. "Lick it up like a bitch would. Come on sweetheart." He shoved my head forward. "Do as daddy says."

I refused though. I had more dignity than that.

He pulled the gun out of me and set it on the floor. He reentered. "Daddy's close, so you better be prepared." He had forgotten about the spit and was more worried about what was to come. I mean, what damage could he do now? I was already pregnant, with his child nonetheless. So what harm could he do?

He ripped my head back one more time, thrusting himself into me his final time and released. He shuddered and so did I, for completely different reasons. I was sickened by this man. The man I once loved. I was repulsed by him. And he just took me in one of my safe havens. Baker Street would never be the same to me as long as he was alive. And even if he was dead, who knew if this was going to be safe for me.

He stood up and put his pants on right, adjusting them to how they were when he first walked in.

"If you keep the child, I want to be part of their life." Bold move asshole. Too bad that wasn't going to happen.

"Not in a million years. Not even if Hell were to freeze over today. I want you the hell out of this place. I want you to leave and never come back. Haven't you done enough? And wanting to be in my child's life? No. Never. Now leave." I had begun to shout. Something that surprised even myself. I had just let him take me again, but now I would fight back. Now I would stand up for myself This wouldn't happen again, and I was going to be sure of it. He also wasn't going to come near my child.

He lunged forward and shoved me against the wall. He then twisted my arm behind me, and it sent a searing pain upwards. He then grabbed my head and beat it against the wall. One, two, three times. There was now an open wound on my forehead forming blood. He turned me around and punched me in the stomach. The home and safe place to our unborn child. My unborn child. He punched and punched and punched. He then took the butt of the gun and hit me over the head with it. He would need more force to knock me out though. So instead of beating me, he started kicking me. He threw me to the ground and I instinctively shelled up and clenched my knees. He wouldn't hurt this baby anymore. So he kicked my back. I could feel ribs crumbling under his boots. I could feel blood oozing out of open cuts. I could feel bruises reforming in old places.

"We'll see about that." He said. And he grabbed his gun. He stood over me. More like towered over my cowering body. I knew fighting back was a stupid idea. But I did it anyway. I was standing up for myself, and now I was lying as I awaited my death. I could feel my body wanting to give up. Wanting to quit. It was losing an excessive amount of blood. And I had a few broken things. And then I felt a foreign object enter my body. It had lodged itself somewhere behind the baby. I also smelled gun powder. The bastard had shot me. And he left. He was leaving me to die on the floor of 221b Baker Street.

Once I knew for sure he was gone, I uncurled myself and crawled to the phone. I didn't know how far away John was, but he was the one I was going to call. I couldn't alarm Mycroft with this. He had business to attend to today. He said he would be busy all day. So I dialed John.

I can't remember if he picked up or not, because the world around me went black.


	14. Chapter 14

Not many people came to visit, which was not surprising and was totally okay with me. I didn't really feel like having people stare at my limp body anyways. I had a few wires hooked up to me and I had a breathing hose in my nose to keep constant oxygen in my body. They were going to put the full oxygen mask on, but when I was still conscience I asked them not to. I had several bandages. Some different colors because of blood stains, most of them were white though. They were placed all over my body. There was a rather large bandage on my forehead, covering up the wound. During surgery, they had removed some glass fragments and a few pieces of wood. Greg had apparently done a number on my forehead. The wound wasn't too deep though, so it wasn't going to leave a huge scar and healing was moving along rather quickly.

During surgery they had also removed the bullet. It had been lodged under my stomach and above my baby, somehow missing vital organs in the process. It had torn something inside my body which had caused excessive amounts of bleeding which is why I passed out. Had nothing been torn, I would have been totally capable of calling for help, but instead the bullet ripped something before I completed my phone call.

Other than the bruises, cuts, and bullet hole, I was perfectly fine. I was fine. Baby was fine. We were all fine.

The room I was in was cold. Not to the point of freezing, but it sure felt like it. I had two blankets on and was still shivering. My body was just cold. And in shock. I was cold and in shock, something I didn't want. But I was alive, so I couldn't necessarily complain.

I was just waking up from another long nights sleep when I heard hushed voices at the foot of my bed. I kept my eyes shut, though.

"No, I don't understand it either. But I'm not resting until I get to the bottom of this. I apologize for blaming you both. It was just your fault as it was mine, but it wasn't even our fault to begin with which is really upsetting me. I need someone to blame. I need someone to throw against a wall. I can't continue to blame myself for this. That's why I'm so angry John. I blamed you and Sherlock because I needed someone to blame. Yet I still blame myself. How couldn't I?" I couldn't see what Mycroft was doing, but I heard movement. I then heard chairs scraping across the floor closer to my bed. I then felt a hand grabbing mine and placing it into their hands. His fingers were gently rubbing my knuckles and the back of my hand. He was warm and it was comforting.

"Mycroft, you can't do that to yourself though. I understand you want to blame yourself, but we both know who is really to blame. And it isn't either of us or Sherlock, and most certainly not Mrs. Hudson. There is only one person to blame, and your men are working very hard to try to find him. Sherlock and I couldn't have predicted this, neither could you. All we can do now is pray it doesn't happen again, which it won't, and we can just be here for Molly. We can be here and support her and just make sure she gets the help she needs. All we can do is make sure Molly doesn't suffer more than she needs to."

I was going to open my eyes when the door opened. So I still kept them shut, listening and observing.

"I apologize for intruding, I just need to check her fluids and vitals and things. Please, don't let me interrupt. I won't be long." Her voice drifted around the room as she moved from the door to my bedside. She replaced my IV and another set of fluids. She charted something and then placed the chart on top of my machine.

"I don't know if you want to be in here when I do this. I just had to check her bandages and things. I really do apologize." When her hands moved my bandage from my forehead, I took that as neither John nor Mycroft protested. Her fingers were also warm. It shocked me a little and I made a slight sudden movement. "There, there sweetheart. It's okay. It's only me. I'm just checking your bandages again." She cooed into my ear.

When she was done replacing my forehead bandages, she moved to my arms then my legs. She had saved my stomach for last. I hadn't really thought anything of it. At all actually.

She lifted the gown of my shirt up just enough to see the bandage and my blankets covering the lower half of me. She gently removed the tape keeping the gauze in place and lifted the bloodied covering off me. "Good, it's looking better." She said out loud. Half talking to herself, half talking to whoever was listening. "No infections yet, which means you shouldn't get one. You're out of the stage we were worried about. And no infections makes for a happy healthy mom and a happy healthy baby. I'll be back in twelve hours to re-check on the bandages to see if they are holding up and to see if anything has gotten better or worse." She grabbed her chart, apologized again for intruding, and left.

That's when everything began to sink in. I had totally forgotten who was in the room and now it was all unfolding, in a way I didn't want things to unfold. I clenched my eyes tighter, hoping I was still dreaming. Because still holding my hand was none other than Mycroft Holmes.


	15. Chapter 15

"Let me get this straight, Doctor Watson. That nurse just said "mom" and "baby" in the same sentence. Please tell me she was kidding. Please tell me she had the wrong person. Please, please tell me this is a joke." I could feel Mycroft lift out of his chair. My eyes were still shut and tears were starting to blind them.

"Mycroft, she was going to tell you. That's where we were before we got home to Baker Street. She had only found out that day. That's how Lestrade found us. He must have followed us back to Baker Street and waited for Sherlock and me to leave. She was afraid. You can't blame her, can you? Raped and scared, then moving from one house to another, still scared and feeling alone, then you telling her you love her, and then finding out she's pregnant and her feeling like you are going to abandon her, and then raped again and shot, by none other than the bastard who fathered her unborn child. She was afraid. We were talking about how to tell you before we left. She had, I'm sorry has, every means to tell you. She's just afraid. She's scared. You have to believe me." John sounded slightly angry, but it wasn't enough to alarm anyone.

I opened my eyes, letting the tears stream down my cheeks. Mycroft and John were looking at each other. John looking slightly angry and upset. Mycroft looking more hurt than anything.

"Mycroft." I began. I didn't know what to say. I felt I had betrayed him in every possible sense. We weren't dating, we weren't lovers, but I still felt like we were. And I felt like I had betrayed him for letting it happen again.

He immediately stooped down next to me and wiped my tears with his hand. "Sh, no. No, no. Don't say anything. It's okay. Everything is okay." He was whispering in my ear.

"Mycroft, I. I don't –"

"No, don't say anything sweetheart. No, no, no dear. It's okay. I'm here its okay." He was back to caressing my hands and now wiping my tears. He was softly speaking in my ear. There was a knock on the door which interrupted that process, but for only a second. Sherlock was at the door, beckoning for John to leave the room.

"Mycroft, I'm sorry. I should have called and told you. Or came home. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do. I didn't want this to happen. I'm sorry." I was crying harder.

"No, never apologize for this. It isn't your fault. It never has been and it never will be. It's okay. I'm here for you. I'm not mad. I'm not angry, I promise. We'll get through this. You and me. We can do this. We're looking for him. We are going to get you justice and keep you safe. We can do this. You and me. Me and you. Molly Hooper, I do love you and I will keep you safe." He had said it again. He had told me he loved me again. And I wasn't about to hesitate this time. With my luck, who know what would happen.

"I love you to Mycroft." And in that moment I felt safe again. I felt like nothing else mattered. Like I hadn't been shot. Like I was bleeding from several wounds. Like I was safe. I felt safe. And that's all that mattered. He took his hands away from me and moved them towards my stomach. He gently placed his hands over the little pouch I had growing.

"You and I are going to raise this baby and we are going to raise him or her right. You and me. And you will both be safe. I will keep you safe." He kept talking about how he loved me and how we were safe and how we were going to raise this child and how I didn't need to apologize and how everything was going to be alright, but I wasn't listening. I was focused on what was happening behind the glass. John and Sherlock had started out talking in normal voices, hushed by the walls. The John had begun to shout and then Sherlock retaliated, but they were back to their normal voices. It looked like John was wiping away tears. Sherlock glanced into the room and we made eye contact for only seconds, but in those seconds I knew something had changed. I felt calm. At peace.

Today was the day Sherlock and I had made a connection. When our eyes met, he was telling me something. Something I didn't quite get in that moment, but it was something. A seed was planted, all because Sherlock and I made eye contact. He nodded and looked back at John. He glanced once more back at me, winked and proceeded to give John details. Details that I won't find out until later. Not later today, but later this week.

Details, it's all in the details. But for now, I was going to celebrate the fact that I was being accepted. That I was being loved. And that I felt invincible. And no one could stop me.


	16. Chapter 16

Hello my dear readers, I must apologize for being away for so long and not updating. But alas, here I am. I also would have posted a new chapter sooner, but I also wasn't pleased with my last two but now I kind of am and I don't want to change them, so I was conflicted. Also, for those wondering why this didn't come up in Molly/Lestrade searches (and I say didn't because hopefully I changed that) is because I also added Mycroft to the list of characters, but I've changed it back so hopefully its back to normal. I hope you enjoy the next chapters for I am having a blast writing this. _xoxo_ (**_P.S. I do not own characters, actors, BBC, or anyone/anything affiliated_**.) Without further ado...

* * *

I would like to say this week was a good week, yes. I would like to say it was a great time and I smiled a lot and laughed and things, but I can't. I can't lie. I was throwing up and crying and in pain. I couldn't smile. Well, that in itself is also a lie. I smiled when Mycroft, John, and Sherlock stopped by. But being stuck in a hospital room just wasn't a good time. And I was having nightmares and flashbacks, and I would cry and shake and throw up, and I was just a mess. But today, oh today, I was leaving this gloomy room and going home, under Mycroft's watch of course.

He has asked a few days ago if I could leave and go home because he could take care of me, but the doctors and nurses wanted to keep a close eye on me, well more specifically the baby. I was three months along and with the trauma I had been through, physically and emotionally, they wanted to make sure I was okay so the baby was okay. And we both were. Well, as to be expected I guess. But yes, I do get to go home and I have a personal doctor keeping his eye on me, just like he had been at the beginning. Doctor Watson, oh my dear Watson. He was all for the idea. Having me home and him being the doctor to watch me. It was brilliant. Sherlock said he would also keep an eye on me, if he wasn't too busy on a case or experimenting.

Sherlock, the man who may or may not have done something to alter my life almost entirely. That day we locked eyes I knew something between us had changed. At first, I didn't understand why he had winked because honestly, Sherlock isn't a winking type of person. And that incident with John in the hallway didn't quite make much sense either. Until yesterday.

Sherlock, John, and Mycroft had all come in after morning rounds and sat in chairs staring at me. It was slightly unnerving, but John eased my uneasiness with a smile.

"Molly, there is something we need to tell you." Mycroft had spoken first.

"There has been a..." A pause. There had been a pause. "Molly, Greg was found dead. We think it's suicide. A gunshot. With the same gun used on you." John had taken his time to let it out easily. When he was finished I looked around at the three men circling the foot of my bed, and as relieved as I was and as much as I just wanted to sob with tears of joy, I knew something else was wrong. I didn't know if it was the deliverance of the news or the way the men held themselves, it just seem strange.

"So what really happened?" I had finally asked. I looked all three of them in the eyes. They weren't telling me something and I had wished they would just give me the truth.

"Greg shot himself. He's dead. That's what happened." John repeated. Mycroft got up and kissed my forehead and told me I wasn't going to be hurt again and then he said he had business to attend, which usually meant The Queen or someone else of importance was either unhappy or needed something done, so we kissed and he left.

Then John was the next to leave. He had patients to see before the day was done and he had put it off long enough. So he too, kissed me on the forehead, told me he'd come back later if it wasn't too late, and he'd see me soon.

And then there were two. Sherlock and I. He was just sitting there, in his chair, the same way he had been sitting when they first sat down.

"You know." He finally spoke a good ten minutes later. "It's all in the details. It really is. John knows is. I know it. Mycroft knows it. And had you been there, you would have known it." I was about to question him, mostly because I didn't know what he was talking about. "Lestrade did have a bullet wound. That much is true. The question is, was it his own hand that shot him or was it someone else's hand with the same gun making it look like it was a suicide? Was it an accident or was it on purpose? And what were his last words? Does anyone know? Do we know the details? Yes, of course we do. Lestrade is 5'11" or 1.80m, give or take. He's not a particularly heavy set man, though he probably enjoyed coffee and a bagel more often than he should of. He was on the force, so he was able to put up a fight. But how swift was he? Well Ms. Hooper, let me explain. It was his own hand that shot him, yes. But he didn't pull the trigger. It took a lot on my part, but I finally got him to a natural looking position. So, we now know that it was his hand that held the gun, but it wasn't his hand that pulled the trigger. His last words. The sentiment. I almost expected tears. 'I am a man of mass destruction. I've ruined someone's life. For that I am proud and also sickened and ashamed. Tell Molly I love her and I'm sorry.' Yes, how sweet. So we now know more. What else do we know? Oh yes. He was found laying in his bed with the gun in his hand. So, did he or did he not kill his own self? The police force will know suicide. You, John, Mycroft, and I will all know the truth, for we all know the details. He was murdered." He almost smiled. He kept going on about the details and how the body of a man of mass destruction that I had happened to love for a long time, lay strewn in a bed I once slept on. And I knew it wasn't suicide the moment Sherlock began to speak. Sally once told me that he would one day be the man to put the body there, and I didn't believe her. But now I did.

"Molly, we share this with no one. I wasn't even supposed to explain the details. You were supposed to be told suicide and nothing else. I just thought you of all people should know the truth." And he stood up and walked to the door. As he turned the knob, he turned towards me one last time.

"I've always kept an eye on you. Even lonely people need friends too." And he left.


	17. Chapter 17

*3 Months Later*

I was now as big as a whale, or so I would like to think so. Apparently I was to get bigger as time went on. I could barely see my toes as I was slightly waddling. I was also eating a lot. Oh yes, I was eating a lot. Not that that was a bad thing. I was eating my regular amount of food with maybe an extra piece of toast with breakfast, an extra sandwich with lunch, maybe another chicken breast with dinner. Who was I kidding? I was eating for me and a baby. And we were both hungry.

I was also sleeping better. I think the fact that I was sleeping in the same bed as Mycroft made me feel a lot safer. When I first came home a couple months ago, I was sleeping in my own bed and my own room but I was having nightmare after nightmare and I was getting little to no sleep and it was just ugly. That's when Mycroft and I both decided to: A. Take our relationship a little further and B. Have me sleep in the master bedroom with him. Now I was sleeping all night, no nightmares, no panic attacks. Just peaceful sleep.

That was another thing. Mycroft and I. We both knew we loved each other, that was no surprise. What came as a surprise was when he proposed to me. I wasn't expecting it at all. Out of the blue you could say. We were decorating the nursery when it happened. There was blue paint everywhere and miscellaneous items all over the place, and I was having a lovely conversation with Mycroft when he just stopped talking, almost like he had left the room. I turned to see if he had, but instead I found him on one knee. One knee with a little black box in the palm of his hand. And that's when I started to cry. The tears just started coming. He was telling me how much I meant to him, how I was beautiful and lovely, and all these nice things when he ask me to marry him. That was a month ago and I'm still in a bit of shock. I wasn't prepared for a marriage proposal, and seeing as I was pregnant, I really wasn't expecting one.

We've planned the wedding for after the baby is born. I have a lot to look forward to. A baby, a wedding, the rest of my life. All these wonderful things. As they say "It gets worse before it gets better." And now it all makes sense. Speaking of the baby, he was due in two or three months. We've picked out a name and everything already. He shall take on the Holmes last name, even though he isn't a technical Holmes. James Alexander Holmes to be precise. I've always loved those names and now I shall have a son by that name.

Sherlock had been stopping by more frequently also. Of course John was, but Sherlock would join him sometimes. He sometimes had very little to say, if anything. We kept an eye out for each other, Sherlock and I. We were almost friends you could say, but of course we didn't say. Sherlock had one friend and one friend only and that friend was John. But Sherlock and I were closer than before.

Things were going wonderfully. All was right with the world. I was happy. Mycroft was happy. Even James was happy, if fetuses could be happy. And nothing could ruin that.


	18. Chapter 18

*Later in Life*

It had been several long years since everything had happened. Struggling with depression and even almost killing myself, to being happy and totally fine. Yes, it was rough and yes, things were harder at times than others, but here I am today. I am happy. I am free. I am in love.

Mycroft and I had a lovely wedding a few years ago. It was a very traditional, yet very small, wedding. Very Holmes like. I'm talking so small that it was Mycroft and I (of course) and Sherlock and John, with baby James and Mrs. Hudson. I wore a white dress and Mycroft donned his suit. We were married at the Holmes estate with a gathering afterwards consisting of the same people. And after that, we were infinite. How cliqued to think about. It really is. A wonderful wedding and then I felt on top of the world. And I had the man of my dreams by my side.

And now, now that I look back, I wouldn't change a thing. We are getting older, Mycroft and I. Not exceptionally old, we just happen to be older than we were when we married. We were older, probably happier, and worn out from children running around the house.

Oh yes, the children. It all started with James. The moment we held James was the moment we knew there would be more. Yes, James wasn't Mycroft's but he loved him just like his own son. So James was the first born. Then came Crispin, Victoria, Elizabeth, Jasper, and Brooke. Three girls and three boys. We had our hands full for the years to come after that. Now, they were content and we were content. James was almost done with secondary school and Brooke was just starting primary school.

Sherlock was even enjoying spending time with the kids. Sort of. He never expressed that he enjoyed children but sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, I could see a smile stretching across his face when he was around them. I knew a part of his heart melted every time one of the kids shouted "Uncle Sherlock" or in Jasper and Brooke's case "Uncle Sherly or Uncle Locks". And of course John was enjoying spending time with the kids. Not only was he there primary physician, but he too was "Uncle John".

I decided, after having our third child Victoria, that it was time for me to hang up my lab coat and stop being a mortician. I was going to be a stay at home mom and I honestly didn't have a problem with that. The dead people weren't going to miss me much anyways, and now I had the chance to spend my children's lives with them instead of a nanny being there every step of the way.

So my life has been pretty hectic. From a mortician to a lover, to being used and abused, to falling in love with the right man and having children and living happily ever after. It is who I am.

And I wouldn't change it for the world.

* * *

So that's it. The end of the story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you want me to branch off with maybe one of the children and write a story about them, I can do that. Or if you want to see someone else's side of the story, feel free to ask. I'm up to any suggestions. But in all honesty, I just hope you enjoyed it. :)


End file.
